


Darling You’re a Work of Art

by Lichinamo



Series: SAF Trope Roulette [2]
Category: Spies Are Forever - Talkfine/Tin Can Brothers
Genre: Alternate Universe-Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe-Modern Setting, Fluff, Getting Together, M/M, Reincarnation AU, Yes I wrote another one, and you will read it, field trip to a museum!!!, meet cute, no beta we die like men
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-29
Updated: 2020-08-29
Packaged: 2021-03-06 14:48:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 601
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26170669
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lichinamo/pseuds/Lichinamo
Summary: “Your soulmate was an artist of centuries ago, and currently, you’re an art student at university (or not but you’re taking an arts class). Then one day for a field trip, you go to a far-away museum and you just find yourself staring at what was your reflection, wearing different clothes to fit the timeline but it was definitely a split-image of you, on one of the framed displays.”
Relationships: Owen Carvour/Agent Curt Mega
Series: SAF Trope Roulette [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1900459
Comments: 5
Kudos: 40





	1. 2020

**Author's Note:**

> Me??? Posting another reincarnation fic??? It’s more likely than you’d think

Curt was never a big fan of museums. Not since he threw up on the museum field trip in the fourth grade.

However, he had to take an art class for his degree, and that class had a field trip to the Met, so here he was. Looking at paintings and trying not to get queasy at the memory.

The paintings were exquisite, though Curt didn’t know much about them. He was gunning for a C- in the class.

A painting almost half the size of a wall caught his eye, and he froze. The painting. . . It was him.

Curt slowly got as close to the painting as he was physically allowed, being blocked off by the velvet rope protecting the art.

The portrait version of him- of not-him- had a haughty smirk on his face and was clad in an outfit that looked to be fitting of a man of noble status- adorned in furs, wearing rings on each of his index fingers.

Curt read the card beside the painting, giving its name and a brief history.

_Portrait of My Lover, Unknown._

_This painting was done by an unknown artist in the 16th century. It is largely theorized by art historians that the man in the painting was the soulmate of the painter._

Soulmate. Curt’s soulmate painted him.

Visions danced in his head of standing still for hours posing, pretending to complain but secretly relishing the attention from his love. Wrapping his arms around a man’s neck and kissing him as a distraction to steal his paintbrush, laughter echoing through the halls as he ran. . .

“Do you like it?”

Curt hadn’t realized that someone was standing beside him until now. Startled out of his trance, he turned to face the man.

The man was familiar. So very, very familiar. Curt’s entire being ached with the desire to be near him. It was as if he were a moth, and the stranger was the flame.

“It’s beautiful.”

The stranger smiled at him, holding out a hand. “It’s good to see you again.”

Curt took the man’s hand, and he knew in his heart that this was the man who painted him so long ago.

His soulmate.


	2. 1577

“Darling, will you please stop pouting? It’s only for a little bit longer.”

Curt huffed but returned his expression to a smirk. When Owen had come to him saying he would love nothing more than to paint him, Curt had jumped at the opportunity; he adored his soulmate’s work, even if the people around them didn’t.

Owen was a vision when he was creating. Each deliberate stroke of his brush, the focus in his eyes, the furrow in his brow, the slight tension in his lips. . . It made Curt want to kiss him silly.

“I can feel you lusting after me from all the way over here, Curtis,” Owen chided playfully from behind his easel.

Curt rolled his eyes at the usage of his full name. “It’s not my fault that you’re breathtaking when you work, lambkin.”

“Sweet words won’t get you out of this any quicker, my love,” Owen said, sounding highly amused.

“What if I bat my eyelashes at you? Beg for you to sweep me off my feet?”

“I do love to hear you beg.” Owen put his brush down and stood, striding over quickly before picking him up in a bridal carry.

Curt laughed with surprised glee. “Owen!”

Owen kissed him softly, tenderly. When they pulled apart he pressed his forehead against Curt’s, their noses brushing. “I adore you,” He breathed.

“And I you.” Curt leaned up and kissed him again.


End file.
